Dragon Singer
by Na'hiel
Summary: Once upon a time, Parselmages were known by a different name: Dragon Singers. Harry Potter is going to bring that art back to life, though at six years old he doesn't know it yet. Slash, HP/CW. Warning: Story contains child abuse and underage sexual relations.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Note: "~This~" equals parseltongue.**

**Warnings: This chapter contains non-con and incest and child abuse and some gore. The rest of the story will doubtlessly include flashbacks to the abuse. Also, at some point there will be a sexual relationship between an older wizard (Charlie Weasley, age 22-ish if my math is correct), and an underage one (Harry Potter, age thirteen I think is when the relationship will start). Please don't read if that's something that's going to trigger/upset you.**

Dragon Singer

Prologue-

Uncle wasn't going to stop. Freak didn't know what he was going to do.

"Please," he begged, over and over and over again. But it did no good.

Uncle tore into Freak over and over again and Freak screamed but there was nobody to hear him. Or nobody who cared. Those that could hear him were amused by his pain, if not aroused by it. He didn't want to scream, didn't want to give them the pleasure. But he couldn't stop himself. He screamed until his throat was raw and none of them cared. Not his Uncle, not the other men, not the one woman watching. His blood was hot and sick and free and they revelled in it.

Freak screamed again and then his mouth was full and he couldn't scream any longer. He couldn't breathe either, and tears leaked from Freak's eyes but it only served to incite the crowd further. He was choking, he couldn't breathe, his vision was blacking out around the edges. And still they laughed and screamed and revelled. And all Freak knew was pain and anguish.

Later, much later, Freak lay on his cot trembling and shaking and hurting. The bite marks on his shoulder were particularly painful just then, throbbing and stinging as sweat dripped into them. He was filthy, and the room stank of his filth. But he couldn't bring himself to move, to try to tidy up. Not that there was any way to tidy up, what with him being so weak and pained and broken and pathetic. And the stairs were creaking as one of Them went up or came down or just danced to make the dust fall into his eyes. It irritated, but Freak blinked it away. It wasn't so bad as the pain in his shoulder, which was easier to focus on than the pain in the rest of his body.

Then the door to his cupboard rattled and the handle to the door turned.

Freak froze. No. Not again. He couldn't. He hurt too much. He couldn't. Not again. But the cupboard door was opening and that meant only pain and hurt and fear and no. No. His Uncle peeked in through the gloom of the cupboard, a sickening leer on his face.

"Come here, Freak," Uncle snarled, his voice thick with want.

Freak whimpered. It hadn't been so long since the last time. Not even a full day, he didn't think. He was still sore, still injured. Normally they would have faded before Uncle came to him again. "No, please, Uncle," Freak begged, his voice shaking.

"Shut up, Freak, and do as you're told," Uncle snarled, his lips curling frightfully. Uncle stepped into the cupboard and reached for Freak.

Freak let out a broken, desperate little cry and closed his eyes. He couldn't... he couldn't! And then he felt like he was being pulled apart, squeezed into a straw and twisted and when it stopped and he opened his eyes...

...there was a monster staring down at him. It was massive, bigger than a house, bigger than a jet even, with huge and intelligent eyes that mesmerized Freak. It had wings, massive wings, and scales that shimmered in the moonlight. Freak was enchanted.

He reached out one hesitant, shy, shaky little hand and pressed it against the impossibly warm nose that was lowered to sniff at him.

"~Hi~," Freak whispered, staring at the majestic monster. It was too dark for him to make out the color of its scales, but Harry thought the creature was beautiful all the same. He thought that if the monster was going to kill him, he would be happy for having seen it just this once.

The monster let out a small huff of air, and Freak smiled as the hot air rushed over him. "~You're lovely,~" he whispered, his voice shaking still in the pain of just being on his feet. It was easier to forget about now, with a lovely monster staring down at him.

"~A Singer,~" she rumbled, and Freak thought that maybe she sounded pleased.

"~Is that a good thing?~" Freak asked, hopeful. How could he not be? Nobody said nice things about him, at least not nice things that didn't hurt. He'd been told that he felt lovely, that he was a good fuck, that his mouth was nice, but they hurt him as they said it.

"~It is a wonderful thing, little Singer,~" she said, and even her whisper felt like a roar to Freak. It was wonderful. Here was a creature that wouldn't be pushed around by his Uncle.

"~Thank you,~" Freak whispered. He was tired and hurting and dizzy with blood loss, but he was so happy to have had a nice word said about him. He thought that he could truly rest in peace, now.

"~And you've found us so young,~" the monster murmured, her massive snout nuzzling against Freak's cheek. "~Would you like to stay with us, little Singer?~" she offered, and the rumble of her voice radiated through Freak's fragile body.

"~Oh, please,~" Freak whispered, his tone pleading. He was certain that Uncle couldn't hurt him if he were here with the lovely monster. She would keep him safe, somehow he just knew it.

The monster let out a roar, shot flames into the sky, and Freak was suddenly buffeted by hurricanes of wind and surrounded by many of the massive monsters, all as large and hot and warm as the first.

"~It will hurt, little Singer,~" she cautioned, her tone warm and affectionate, "~but you will have your home with us in the end. And we will never allow another to hurt you again.~"

Freak's eyes widened at the thought. He was already so tired, so hurt. But one more hurt to be able to have a home wouldn't be so bad, right? He bowed his head and something strange, powerful, dangerous rose within him. "~Please,~" he whispered once more, unable to say anything else.

A claw, unexpected, slashed at his back. It tore through his clothing, tore through his flesh, maybe even tore through his bone. He screamed, broken and desperate and anguished, and another claw struck his chest in the same way. He fell to his knees, but it didn't stop. Other claws tore at his arms, his leg, even his face at one point. The world dissolved into a haze of pain and confusion.

"~With our claws we rend what was,~" a thousand voices said in a chorus as Freak writhed in pain on the ground. He could feel himself dying, giving in to the loss of blood that clawed at him even as the monsters did so as well.

"~With our blood we restore that which was lost,~" the voices continued. Freak felt a slick wet coolness mingling with the heat of his own blood, and realized that the monsters were sharing their blood with him in some crude manner.

"~With our fire we forge what was torn!"~ the voices finished with a triumphant roar. Freak was engulfed in the heat of their flames.

As Freak began to truly lose consciousness, the thousand voices chorused in tones that screamed satisfaction and joy, "~Singer, we welcome you!~"

ooOOooOOoo

At midnight on March the third, in the year of 1987, Albus Dumbledore woke up feeling as though somebody had crossed over his grave. Or, more appropriately, as though somebody had walked over his grave but stopped just before they left it, leaving shivers running down his spine and his nerves jangling with the feeling that something was very, very _wrong_. Fawkes was shrieking, only adding to the feeling.

He made his way swiftly to his office where he froze. The instrument on his desk that had moved steadily for five years wasn't twirling. It wasn't moving, it was in fact entirely unresponsive. Its lack of motion and response could mean only one thing, and it wasn't a good thing.

The wards were down at Number Four Privet Drive.

Albus Apparated immediately to the house the moment he'd made it out of the boundaries of the school wards. He banged rudely on the door, not caring at all for the time or the propriety of the matter. It didn't matter, none of it mattered, not if the Potter boy were gone. If Harry was gone then there was a good chance that nothing would matter at all.

"Are you- No. Absolutely not," Vernon Dursley blustered, and tried to slam the door in Albus' face.

Albus had his wand out and in the Muggle's face before the door could close. "Where is Harry?" he demanded.

"Listen, we won't have any of your freakishness in our household! We've only just managed to get rid of the Freak you saddled us with; we don't need anything more out of you!" Vernon roared, his face going purple.

The "_Stupify!_" came out before Albus could stop it, and Vernon slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Albus entered the house, but could see no sign of anything wrong. It was a perfectly normal house, just as the outside had implied. At least, what little of the outside he could see in the barely-there moonlight. Except that... there were no pictures of Harry on the walls, he realized as he entered the living room, Vernon's body floating easily behind him. There were dozens of their other child, Dudley, but none at all of Harry.

"Vernon, dear, who was at the-" Petunia stopped at the sight of her husband unconscious, hovering in midair, and Albus Dumbledore in her living room. "What are you doing here?" the woman bit out, her gaze narrow and pinched.

"Where is he, Petunia?" Albus asked, his voice shaking. There was no evidence that two children lived here. And yet, Harry had to have lived at least at one point, otherwise the wards would have fallen long ago.

"He should be in his cupboard. That's where Vernon normally puts him when there isn't a party," Petunia responded, then looked horrified, as though she hadn't meant to say that.

"His... his cupboard?" Albus asked, confused. Never mind that Vernon apparently only brought the child out for parties, something else which made little to no sense. Realization dawned, at least partially when Petunia pointed to the partially opened small door just under the stairs. The cupboard under the stairs, which most houses would use to store cleaning supplies and the like. "You kept him in a cupboard?" he snarled, his wand coming up once more before he could stop it. The thought was horrifying.

Petunia let out a frightened little shriek and crumpled into a dead faint without Albus ever having to utter so much as a syllable of a word. He felt vaguely guilty for inspiring that sort of fear but that feeling vanished when he actually approached the partially opened cupboard. Even several feet away he could smell the sharp scent of waste along with the iron tang of blood and the musk of arousal.

Warily, he opened the door. The tiny cupboard was every bit as disgusting as it had smelled from a distance. There was a thin, tiny little cot shoved up against one wall, covered in blood and waste and something white that horrified Albus all the more. The cot looked as though it had been slept on fairly recently, but Harry wasn't there. And now that Albus was actually in the cupboard, even if only partially, the magic saturating it made his senses tingle.

Harry Potter wasn't in the house that night. Albus knew, as he left, that Harry Potter would never return to Number Four and Albus thought that perhaps he couldn't even blame the child. Now he just had to find the boy before anything could happen to him. Not that Albus thought there was much worse that could be done to the child.

He prosecuted the Dursleys for all that they were worth, had them thrown in jail and their son taken away. He did all that he could to get justice for Harry even though the child wasn't there. Albus knew that the boy was alive, but no matter what he tried he couldn't seem to find the boy.

It would, in fact, be another seven years before Albus Dumbledore saw the boy once more. By then, Harry would be something entirely unrecognizable, something that the wizarding world was in no way ready to face.

* * *

**A/N: So, let me know what you thought! I've got a little bit of information about this one up in my profile, but I'd like to reiterate something here: This story will not have regularly scheduled updates. My main project is still Heir, and with college plus two chapters of that posting every week, I don't have time to add something regular to this. Not to mention, I'm working on another irregular project on top of this one. I'd like to say maybe every two weeks this will update, but that's tentative at best. As always, guys and gals, thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**WARNING: This part contains contact of the romantic (not sexual) variety between an eighteen year old and an eleven year old. Please don't say that I didn't warn you.**

Dragon Singer

Chapter One-

Charlie Weasley's entire body was sore and he couldn't be happier about it.

He'd been at this job all of a week and he loved every minute of it, even the boring and mundane physical labor that sometimes came with it. His mother had cried, oh, how she'd cried, but Charlie had loved dragons ever since he'd been just a little boy and he hadn't been able to imagine doing anything else with his life. When Professor Kettleburn had recommended him to the Romanian reserve, Charlie had seized the chance gleefully.

"Still glad you came all the way out here, boy?" Jacques asked, and thumped Charlie on the back, hard enough that Charlie's sturdy frame rocked forward a bit. Jacques had run the reserve since before Charlie had even been born, and it showed in every inch of the old man's weathered body. He had short, wiry gray hair and a scraggly scruff of a beard, coupled with bright, vibrant grey eyes that sparkled with entertainment at the world. Jacques was incredibly spry at the ripe age of eighty. He was also missing two fingers, one leg, and an eye, all apparently lost in various scuffles with nesting dragons in the past forty years. Despite the injuries, Charlie thought he was amazing and hoped to look half so good as he did when he'd been working at the reserve for forty years.

"Sir, there's not a thing in this world that could make me regret this," Charlie said with an honest smile. He always had a smile for Jacques. The man was as close to a hero as Charlie had.

"Oh, yes sir," Anna chimed in teasingly as she settled across from Charlie, her tray of food striking the table with a familiar clatter that blended well with the din of the mess hall. Her long red hair was pulled into a tight bun, meaning that she'd only just come from working around one of the dragons, and her blue eyes were filled with laughter. Charlie was always making her laugh, be it accidentally or on purpose. "C'mon, Char, call him Jacques like the rest of us!" she chided with a good-natured smile.

"Whatever," Charlie said with a roll of his eyes. He couldn't help it if he was so used to calling authority figures 'sir'. He didn't think there was anything wrong with a little bit of politeness, anyway.

Jacques laughed loudly, raucously, and slapped Charlie on the back once more. "Let him do what he's comfortable with, Anna. He'll learn soon en-" he cut off rather abruptly.

Charlie realized then that the entire hall had gone eerily silent. He had only a moment to wonder what had made all the conversation cut off, and then he heard it.

There was a sound coming from outside, soft at first, but growing louder with every second. A sound like... like a singing, Charlie realized. It was the sound of the dragons on the reserve lifting their voices in a haunting, lovely, sorrowful song that tore at his heart and filled him with grief and sent shivers down his spine all at once.

"Might've been old Benezza going," Anna said quietly as the conversation in the mess hall gradually picked up once more. But Charlie couldn't help but notice that everything seemed much more subdued than it had been, and how could it not? That eerie sound hadn't stopped.

"What... what is that?" Charlie asked, more than a little unsettled by the noise from outside. Nobody seemed as though they were going to talk about that unsettling noise, and he wanted answers rather desperately.

"Haven't you heard of Dragon Singers, boy?" Jacques asked, then shook his grizzled old head. "Never mind. Not surprised you haven't, especially with the way you British wizards look down on Parseltongue in general. They're something I always thought was a myth till we got our own Singer."

"It's a shame what schools aren't teaching these days," Anna said with a nod of her head. "Don't be embarrassed not to have heard of them, Char; I hadn't either 'till Singer showed up five years ago."

Charlie grinned, a rueful thing. "If there's one thing that being out here's taught me, it's that I don't know anything. So yeah, not embarrassed to admit that I have no idea what the two of you are talking about."

Jacques smile didn't fade at all as he explained quietly, "Dragon Singers are half-man, half-dragon. Nobody knows where they come from except the dragons, and they ain't talking. There's only two others out there right now, a man out in Southern America, and a woman somewhere in Asia. Neither of them were particularly willing to talk to us when we sent feelers out to their reserves. One thing that all Singers apparently have in common is that they speak Parseltongue. It's how they communicate with the dragons. As far as we can tell, Singers lead the dragons in... well, in their religious rites. That particular song is a funeral song; you learn to recognize the different ones."

"So you're saying that the dragons have... priests?" Charlie asked. He wasn't really all that sure why he was surprised by the fact. He'd known that most dragons were as intelligent as humans; it was a fact that all keepers came to acknowledge after a time, but he'd never considered that they might have a religion.

"Sort of. Best way to describe it, I guess," Jacques said with an uncomfortable little shrug. Charlie knew the man well enough to know that he didn't hold too much with religion. Most wizards didn't. "Singer also acts as a voice for the dragons. When they need something, Singer comes to us. He'll be by tonight to let us know which of the dragons went, most likely."

"I just hope that it was Benezza, and not an unexpected one," Anna murmured into her soup. "The hatchlings are always the worst when it happens."

"Can't be a hatchie this time," came Sean's thick Irish accent. Charlie turned to look at the smiling, black-haired man. "Aren't any nesting mothers that we know of, and Singer always warns us when we need to stay clear of one of them for a while."

"So what's the Singer's name?" Charlie asked, curious. He was a bit lost in the conversation, but he was used to that. He'd only been employed at the reserve for a week, after all.

Anna, Jacques, and Sean all burst into loud and raucous laughter. This was something else Charlie was used to, and he didn't take offense. He was still learning and they did always make sure to answer his question once they'd gotten over their amusement. And he'd learned quickly that dragon keepers as a whole were more likely to be loud and raucous off duty. Something about grabbing life by the horns before you got a dragon's horn or some such nonsense.

When they'd finally stopped chortling at him, it was Sean who said cheerfully, "If Singer's got a name other than Singer, not a one of us knows it. He pretty much only talks to Jacques."

"His English is... difficult to understand at times," Jacques admitted easily. "He spends most of his time talking to the dragons in Parseltongue, after all."

"Huh," was Charlie's only response. After that the conversation shifted away from the peculiar topic of Dragon Singers and Charlie, despite his extreme interest and the thousand questions on the tip of his tongue, let it happen. He would have plenty of time to learn more about Dragon Singers, after all.

ooOOooOOoo

It was much later in the evening, after most of the reserve had gone off to bed and the only light left was the light of the full-moon and the stars. Charlie was out alone by the lake, watching a young female Ridgeback bathe in the moonlight. She was a majestic sight that took Charlie's breath away. All dragons could take Charlie's breath away, as a matter of fact, and he hoped that he never lost the feeling of awe that overcame him when he looked at the incredible creatures.

"Sariya is lovely, yes?" came a quiet, shy, unfamiliar voice. Every 's' sound was strangely lengthened into a peculiar hissing noise and there was a strange, almost melodic rhythm to the words.

"She is," Charlie agreed, and turned to look at his new companion. He didn't recognize the accent; maybe it was a handler from another reserve? "Charlie Weasley," he said, just before his breath left him in a startled gasp.

The strange voice belonged to a child, no older than Charlie's own youngest brother, possibly much younger if Charlie went by the size of the little one. He had long, wild black hair that fell to his waist. His green eyes were rimmed in gold and bright enough to glow in the semi-darkness of the night. He wore only a pair of dragonskin breeches, no shoes or shirt which revealed the fascinating swirls of emerald green scales on his chest and arms and face. He was exotic and beautiful and breathtaking. And a child, a fact which Charlie had to remind himself of rather forcefully.

"They call me the Singer," the boy offered, a small smile revealing just a hint of abnormally sharp teeth. A fang, really, if one were being accurate. "Well met, Charlie Weasley."

And then the Singer vanished into the night and Charlie was left staring and feeling like the worst kind of pervert for the spike of attraction the young child had inspired.

ooOOooOOoo

"~I think I met Him today,~" Singer whispered, curled against Marlis, a massive and beautiful and deadly Hungarian Horntail.

"~Did you?~" he asked, entirely uninterested. Though he did shift around a bit so that Singer was just a little bit more comfortable.

Marlis was a wonderful example of why Singer loved the dragons. They were all so uninterested in mortal affairs. Singer knew that he could say anything to anyone of them and they would do the dragonic equivalent of patting him on the head. It was a freeing thing, and Singer adored his freedom after the years spent with the human monsters.

"~He's older than me. By a lot.~" Not by dragonic standards, of course, because the seven years that would stand between him and Charlie Weasley were nothing in the long run, but right now they seemed to be an insurmountable obstacle. If he had some kind of flashback during the Heat...

"~You'll be fine,~" Marlis rumbled. "~Your body will remember who he is to you.~"

"~Do you promise?~" Singer asked, curling even closer to the Horntail for comfort. Marlis' scales were warm and soothing and Singer needed that just then.

"~Nobody can promise that, little Singer. But you will be fine,~" came the more gentle voice of Tyara, the lovely Antipodean Opaleye that had taken Singer under her wing once Benezza had been too ill to care for him any longer.

Tyara crept closer while Singer was turning that thought over in his mind until she could nose at him, her breath warm against his bare chest. Singer laughed and wrapped her arms around her snout and shrieked with joy as he was lifted and tossed gently into the air. He landed on her neck and then they were off, soaring through the night sky and Singer was no longer concerned with much of anything at all.

ooOOooOOoo

It was noon the next day and, despite the uncomfortable heat, Charlie was helping to dig out the funeral pit for old Benezza, the Welsh Green that had gone last night. Her body would be laid in the pit by a dragon, then burned by Fiendfyre until nothing was left of her but the bones, at which point Singer would arrive and take the skeleton for a rite that no human had ever witnessed. After that, her bones would be free for the wizards to use as they saw fit.

Sean was digging beside him, quiet and calm in a way that the volatile Irishman so rarely was. Charlie was reluctant to disturb him, but...

"I spoke to the Singer last night," Charlie said hesitantly as he heaved a heavy shovel of dirt over his shoulder. This would be so much easier if they didn't have to dig out a new pit by hand each time a dragon passed. But apparently the ritual demanded it and Charlie supposed he should just be grateful that dragons didn't die all that often and that his reserve had enough keepers that this was actually easy compared to other reserves.

Sean had stopped digging and was staring at him. "Singer actually spoke to you?" the Irishman asked, shocked.

"Is that rare?" Charlie asked. He'd gotten the idea that it was, but he didn't think it was that shocking. Surely Singer would have spoken to others before him. Other than Jacques, of course.

"You... you could say that. He's pretty... unfriendly, I guess. He flamed a keeper just last month," Sean said with a small shrug.

"He can... he can flame?" Charlie squeaked. Singer was beautiful, and Charlie still felt like an awful pervert for even thinking that, but the knowledge that Singer could flame him was just... terrifying. And somehow appealing at the same time. Charlie was entirely disgusted with himself. Just what kind of pervert was he, anyway?

"Oh, yeah. He's got claws, too, nasty ones. He doesn't use them that often, though. In fact, the only time I can remember him using them was on that keeper just last month. Jacques fired the man, for what we don't know, but we all saw the claw marks and the burns. Bastard'll be lucky if he ever recovers full use of his legs after that mess. I wouldn't want to be the one to piss Singer off." Sean shrugged and went back to digging. "But if he spoke to you of his own volition, you ought to be fine."

After a moment's consideration, Charlie went back to digging as well. The funeral pit wasn't going to dig itself, after all, and Charlie had things other than Singer to worry about.

ooOOooOOoo

Later that night, Charlie was out by the lake once more. The pit had been dug and Benezza's body had burned in a terrifying spectacle of heat and flame. Charlie could do with the cool peace of the lake right about then. The area was pretty well empty; all of the dragons had gone off with Singer to an undisclosed location to complete the ritual. They were slowly trickling back to their normal haunts now, but none were currently in the lake.

"She was mother to me," came Singer's quiet, oddly accented voice.

Charlie startled. "Who?" he asked, then wanted to smack himself on the forehead. He wasn't such an idiot, really.

Before he could retract his ridiculous query, Singer was answering, "Benezza. She brought me... gave me this..." Singer was obviously struggling to say what he wanted, then just as obviously gave it up as a lost cause. "Without her I would still be lost," the Singer finally settled on.

Singer still sounded a bit lost, if Charlie were going to be honest. And a bit sad, and Charlie couldn't blame him for that. "I'm sorry for your loss," Charlie murmured, and turned to face the Dragon Singer. The boy was beautiful in the moonlight, and Charlie cursed the thought even as it formed.

Singer was shaking his head, his long black hair dancing with the motion. "She's gone... to the stars." When he spoke, he halted oddly as though trying to think of the right words. "Is better place."

"But you must still miss her," Charlie said gently, and before he could re-think the action, he reached out and rested a gentle hand on Singer's shoulder.

Singer started, stared at him through wild green eyes and Charlie thought for a moment that he was going to learn first-hand the touch of a dragon's flame, then the boy relaxed all at once. "Do you find me attractive?" the boy asked abruptly, voice soft and certain and not even all that much of a question.

Charlie jerked his hand back, shame coloring his cheeks. "I... I'm sorry," he stammered. "You're so young, and I..." He shook his head, helpless. There was nothing he could say to excuse himself of this.

"Am glad," Singer whispered. "Heat will come, and you and I will be Mates." Singer leaned forward then, and up, and tugged Charlie down with a hand that Charlie hadn't even realized was on his shirt. Their lips touched in a brief, chaste kiss, and then Singer was gone into the shadows once more, leaving Charlie stunned and confused in his wake.

ooOOooOOoo

It was a very conflicted Charlie who knocked on the door to Jacques' office early the next morning.

"What's up?" the Head Keeper asked, a look on his face that said he knew exactly what the problem was. Charlie hoped not. That everybody else would know of his shame was... horrifying.

"I think I need to leave the reserve, sir. I think maybe I should head back to England," Charlie whispered, hating to even let the words pass his lips. But he couldn't see another way around it. He'd been up all night trying to figure out what he wanted to do about this... perversion he'd found within himself.

Jacques nodded once and set his quill down on his solid wooden desk. "This is because of Singer, isn't it?" While Charlie sputtered out an incoherent response, a denial, something, Jacques continued with, "Sean mentioned that Singer spoke to you. Said that you seemed confused. Well, boy, I've got some bad news for you: If you go anywhere away from the reserve, I'm pretty damned sure that Singer will follow you."

"Why would he follow me? I'm a... I'm a monster!" Charlie exploded. He turned away, already done with this conversation. He'd done what he needed to do. Jacques knew that he was leaving now, so he should just go.

"He'll follow you because you aren't a monster," Jacques said quietly, calmly, and Charlie froze with his hand on the handle of the door. "You're his Mate, Charlie, and if you leave him he'll have to follow you."

"He's a child," Charlie snarled. "A child who can't possibly be over ten years old and I'm fighting off some kind of sick attraction for him! I'm pretty damned sure that makes me a monster!"

"I know that it seems like it to you right now, but I promise you Charlie that leaving here would be far more monstrous that remaining." Jacques' voice was quiet and gentle and soothing as he said, "So sit down, Charlie, and let's discuss this."

Charlie hesitated. Finally, reluctantly, he settled into the other chair in the room. He knew that he wouldn't be leaving. He didn't want to leave, after all, and it had taken all of his resolve to make the decision to go in the first place. Now, he just couldn't see himself going through with it.

"What do you know about dragons?" Jacques asked, and then smiled. "And let me be specific. What do you know about dragon mating rituals?"

Charlie frowned. He wasn't sure what precisely this had to do with him being a monster and a pervert. "Dragons begin searching for their mate at a very young age, especially considering the longevity of their species. They have some kind of... heat, I suppose, when they're still in what we would consider to be their formative years, and the mate they take during that is the one that they have for the rest of their lives."

Jacques was nodding along with Charlie's words, and when Charlie stopped, Jacques said quietly, "Dragon Singers are part dragon. Nobody knows how it got to be so, but it's so. And one of the things that Singers share with dragons is that they mate just like a dragon does. Our Singer will go into his first Heat at the ripe young age of thirteen."

"Age... thirteen?" Charlie squeaked. "What... you mean that somebody's going to have to sleep with him when he's only thirteen years old?" He was horrified. It was bad enough to know that he was attracted to a child, but to know that the child in question was going to be having sex with some... some other pervert at the age of thirteen was... it was horrifying.

"We were worried," Jacques admitted softly. "Those of us in the know, that is. Because a Singer's mate isn't just anybody. It can't be. Our Singer will be stuck with them for life. And our Singer hadn't found his mate until just a few days ago. If Singer hadn't found him, or if he hadn't decided on a substitute, or if his chosen mate should not complete the ritual during the Heat, Singer will die." While Jacques spoke, his voice quiet and grim, he met Charlie's eyes squarely. There was no hint of laughter in those grey eyes right now.

Charlie was horrified, but he understood. He wasn't an idiot, after all. He could see where this was going. "I'm his mate," he said flatly.

Jacques hesitated, then nodded once. "He's chosen you," he confirmed. "So if you leave, if you refuse to go through with this, Singer will die."

Charlie closed his eyes. The words struck him like the Killing Curse. How could he condemn a child to death? He would... he would have to find a way to get over his own disgust with himself. "Well then. I suppose it's a good thing I find him attractive," he said. When he laughed, if it was a little hysterical, Jacques was good enough not to say anything.

ooOOooOOoo

When Charlie had finished his work for the day, when he'd eaten his dinner which had tasted like nothing more than ash in his mouth, he returned to his tent feeling more than a little run down. The offices, the mess hall, and the infirmary were the only actual buildings on the reserve. The keepers had to be ready and able to sleep where they were needed when they were needed, and so they lived in their tents. It was an existence that suited Charlie, really, and the largest part of him was glad that he didn't have to give that up.

"Jacques has spoken to you?" Singer asked, his light and lisping voice oddly heavy.

Charlie started. He hadn't realized the Singer was in his tent at all. "He has," Charlie said quietly. He settled onto his bed and studied the slender child curled up in the corner of his tent farthest from the bed.

Singer was on the floor, tucked in against the canvas walls, his arms curled around his legs and his head resting on his knees. "Good," the boy murmured. "You will not run from this?" he asked, voice pleading and a little desperate.

Charlie closed his eyes, took a deep breath, let it out in a slow sigh. "No," he answered softly. "I won't run."

Singer nodded, then stood, his motions fluid and graceful. "You will care for me," he said, his tone one of command.

"To the best of my ability," Charlie promised, and if the words felt a bit like a wedding vow, well, Charlie thought that maybe they should. And then the thought hit him: What in Merlin's name was he going to tell his family?

ooOOooOOoo

Albus had known, in his head, that Harry Potter was most likely dead. Despite the fact that the Dursleys had never confessed to murder, not even under Veritaserum, he'd known the boy was dead. The world had known. But some part of him, some small part, had held out hope that the boy would surface in time for to attend Hogwarts.

But no. No such luck. No letter had addressed itself to him, and when Albus had made the attempt at hand-addressing it, no owl would carry it. That could mean only one thing: The boy was dead and gone and, Albus hoped, at peace. It was the least the child deserved after the terrible hand fate had dealt him.

Albus would simply have to find a new way to defeat Tom once and for all. A way that, perhaps, did not involve luring the madman to Hogwarts with the Sorcerer's Stone. Morosely, he put the Stone back into its plain brown sack and began to write the missive to Nick, knowing that the other would understand why the plan had to be tabled.

What good did a villain do without the hero to save the day, anyway?

* * *

**A/N: So, I hope the chapter was at least a little bit worth the wait? I do have the rest of the story outlined. It looks like we're looking at a total of five chapters, plus the prologue and the epilogue. Nothing too huge for this one, I don't think. Let me know what you all thought of the story!**


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains romantic contact between an eleven year old and an eighteen year old. ALSO, in this chapter, there is a minor bit of DUBIOUS CONSENT, but Singer is not the victim. Please don't say that I didn't warn you.**

Dragon Singer

Chapter Two-

They weren't ready for this. Charlie had known it would happen, of course, because how could it not? But he'd always assumed that they would have at least a little bit more time before it even became an issue. For Merlin's sake, he wasn't even 'out' to the rest of the reserve yet. How was he supposed to do this?

He let out a heavy sigh and let his head thump against his pillow. Singer hummed a bit for him from where he was curled up beside him on top of the covers. Charlie had offered to let Singer lay under the covers with him, but Singer had simply looked at him like he was crazy and remained where he was. Charlie hadn't offered a second time.

"I could go... away. I could go away," Singer offered hesitantly when Charlie didn't relax. Singer didn't exactly sound thrilled with that option, though, and Charlie couldn't blame him.

He knew that Singer was still wary after having Charlie nearly run away earlier in the year. It hadn't even been six months since then, and Charlie was pretty sure that Singer didn't let him out of his sight much of the time, even if he couldn't always spot the child. Going elsewhere for the duration of the Christmas holidays would mean that he wouldn't be able to watch Charlie any longer.

"It might not be a bad idea," he said apologetically. He didn't want Singer to have to go away, but he could see why it might be necessary. He had no idea how he was supposed to explain this to his parents, after all, and he'd been hoping to put it off for a while. And by a while, he'd meant a few more years. But that didn't seem like it was going to be doable, since they were bringing Ginny to the reserve for Christmas. But if he could delay talking about the matter until the deed was done, well, that might not be such a terrible idea.

Singer hissed and snarled in response, and while Charlie didn't know what the little one had said, he was relatively sure that it wasn't complimentary. "I'm sorry," he offered quietly. "But out there... I don't think that you and I would be well-received by normal wizards."

Jacques hadn't cared, that much was true. But one of the reasons that Charlie was so very reluctant to speak of his newfound relationship with Singer was that he wasn't sure how the other keepers would react. He was still eighteen years old, and Charlie would eat a dragon uncooked if Singer was older than his youngest brother, who was only eleven.

Singer let out another irritable hiss and shifted until he was on top of Charlie, those bright eyes of his glowering down at Charlie in the darkness. "Too much worry," Singer hissed, "when should care only for me."

Charlie chuckled softly. He couldn't help it; Singer was adorable when he was irritable. Which, really, meant that Singer was adorable most of the time. "I do care for you," he said softly, reassuringly. He lifted a hand and tucked a stray strand of Singer's hair from his eyes and Singer tilted his head into the soft touch. "Which is why staying away while my parents are here might be the best option for you. What if they decide to try and take you away from me?"

Singer hissed at him opened his mouth wide, baring his teeth. Charlie winced at the sight of Singer's fangs, and the spark forming at the back of his throat. He leaned up swiftly and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to Singer's lips. The Dragon Singer immediately fell limp against him, all tension disappearing from the youth's body. "Not fair," he grumbled, all the fight gone from him.

"Ahh, little one, if I always played fair I'd never win anything with you," Charlie answered gently, teasingly. "Please don't be angry with me for using the one advantage I have over you when you're about to try and light my tent on fire. Again."

The first time he'd seen Singer flame had been just last month, and it had been entirely Charlie's fault. He hadn't been thinking, and Singer had seen him kiss Anna on the cheek. The argument that followed had been their first, because even though he hadn't meant anything by the kiss, Singer had clearly taken it to mean that Charlie was going to leave him to burn in the flames of his Heat. Which had led Singer to lighting the tent on fire with an accidental burst of flame. Fortunately, there hadn't been all that much damage to any of Charlie's belongings, and Jacques had been so amused by the incident that he hadn't even grumbled about getting a new tent for Charlie.

Singer let out another hiss. Charlie still didn't understand the exact meaning behind the noise, but he was getting to know the general tone of the noises. That particular tone was a petulant one, which said that Singer knew Charlie was right and didn't want to acknowledge it. So Charlie simply smiled, kissed Singer softly on the lips once more, and closed his eyes.

Eventually, Singer would relax as well and fall to sleep, curled up on top of Charlie to make sure that he couldn't disappear in the middle of the night. Charlie pretended not to notice how that appeared to be the only way that Singer could truly sleep at night.

As it happened, one of the female dragons was nesting during the visit with Charlie's parents and little sister. And though Charlie would have liked to introduce Singer to his parents without telling them the truth of their relationship, because he thought that Singer could use a few more human influences in his life, he was glad not to have to explain everything to them. Singer stayed with the nesting mother, since this was her first clutch, and Charlie didn't see him until well after the New Year.

ooOOooOOoo

"~He spends too much time with his humans,~" Singer complained softly. He was curled up in the nest with Yseira and her young hatchlings, who had made their way from their eggs only a month ago. Singer had been to see Charlie only a few hours ago, or rather, had been in search of him. When he'd found his Mate, Charlie had been sitting at the fire with the redheaded female and the male with the strange markings. Singer hated them both.

"~Do not complain,~" Yseira chastised, and nosed at Singer until Singer curled in on himself with a small giggle. "~Your Mate adores you; he merely wants time with his own people. And you have been busy with me while we waited for my darlings to stop being so lazy.~"

Singer hissed. "~We are his people,~" he protested.

"~We will be,~" Marlis answered, even as he crept up to the nest. When Yseira didn't snap at him, Marlis settled himself at her side and leaned into her briefly. "~We are not yet his people. He cannot understand our songs yet. You should allow him time with his people while he can still walk unnoticed among them.~"

Singer scowled. Marlis was being logical. It had to be a side effect of his own mate finally clutching for the first time. Singer was very glad that his Mate had turned out to be male, and there would be no clutching for him to deal with. It seemed to do very odd things to dragons who had been perfectly irrational once upon a time.

Singer let out a haughty little sniff and hopped up, then. He crept from the nest to the disappointed cries of the hatchlings and said, "~I should go and see him,~" before darting off into the night.

But no matter how fast he moved, he couldn't outrun the sound of Marlis and Yseira laughing at him. That was okay. Singer would have his revenge at some point, it was just a matter of finding a good time for it, that was all.

ooOOooOOoo

When Charlie had first joined the reserve, he'd been very surprised by how social the other keepers were. Every few nights it seemed there was a communal bonfire, and those who chose not to attend were often dragged, kicking and screaming if necessary, from their tents to participate. Charlie had learned that the hard way, when he'd turned in early on one of the night's they'd made a bonfire and Anna and Sean had appeared to drag him out of his tent. Charlie, in that particular instance, had been the one dragged out of his tent. Since then, he'd made certain to attend so that he wouldn't be forced out so everyone could laugh at him.

It was at one of these bonfires sometime in June that Anna and Sean cornered him. Well, cornered was perhaps a strong term, considering that they always sat with him at the bonfires. But this particular night, they drug him off to one of the smaller fires that tended to light up as the main party broke up. Normally when the party broke off, Charlie would go back to his tent where Singer waited, impatient and irritable. This night, he wasn't given that option as Sean and Anna had one of his arms each.

"What's up?" he asked, as casual as he could considering that this deviation from routine just might see his second tent burn to the ground tonight.

"Can't we just want to spend time with our favorite novice dragon keeper?" Sean asked cheerfully, pouring Charlie a measure of whiskey.

"Oh, no, no, you two want something or you wouldn't be breaking out the alcohol," Charlie shot back with a rapid shake of his head. He wasn't stupid. He knew they wanted to talk to him about something, though he had no idea what.

"What a suspicious attitude! You didn't learn that from us, you know. We dragon keepers, we're a simple lot," Anna said with a mournful shake of her head. "We don't like to keep secrets from one another, you know, we dragon keepers."

Charlie fought down a wince. He was keeping secrets from them, and the two of them were pretty much his best friends. He felt awful about not telling them about Singer, but he didn't want to lose their friendship. And he wasn't entirely sure that he wouldn't. "What are you implying?" he asked instead of a confession, keeping his voice as even as possible. He thought he did a pretty admirable job, considering.

"We're not implying anything, Char. We're just saying that, you know, if we had a friend who was keeping a secret from us instead of trusting us, well, when we found out we might be a bit upset about that. But if nobody's keeping any secrets, then there isn't really anything to worry about, right?" Sean slung a friendly arm around his shoulder and pressed the glass of whiskey into his hands.

Charlie took the whiskey like a shot, grimacing at the burn. "Look, guys," he began finally, and didn't miss the triumphant look they shot one another over his head as he settled onto the log in front of the small fire just outside of their tent. "I don't even know what to say."

"Knew there was something," Anna crowed, and took a sip of her own whiskey. "Did you want another of those?" she added with a nod in the direction of Charlie's empty glass.

"No, thanks. I don't need to be getting drunk around you two when you're trying to pry information out of me," Charlie answered dryly. He didn't mention that he didn't want to risk getting drunk while Singer was waiting for him. Singer hadn't spoken much of his past, at least, not of his past before he'd been taken in by the dragons, but what little he had said hadn't been good. Charlie didn't know how Singer would react to him under the influence of any sort of intoxicant, and he didn't think that finding out was really one of his priorities. He'd rather go without being drunk than risk upsetting the child.

"If you'd only tell us what's going on, we wouldn't need to pry information out of you," Sean pointed out. "C'mon, Char, we're your best friends. If you've got something you need to talk about, you know that we're the ones for you to talk to."

"I don't want to talk about it," Charlie shot back, stubbornly. He really didn't. What had been going on between him and Singer for the past... Merlin, had it really been a year already? It was none of their business. It wasn't anybody's business. It wasn't like they were really progressing in their relationship, anyway. And maybe that was the problem. Charlie couldn't help but think of Singer as the child that he was, which meant that he couldn't look at Singer as a lover.

Yes, of course, he occasionally pecked Singer on the lips, and Singer almost always slept by his side barring nesting mothers and ill dragons, but those weren't things that... they were things that didn't make Charlie feel like he was ten kinds of perverted for doing them. Maybe... maybe that was why Singer was still so irritable, because Charlie hadn't even realized what he was doing.

He was still treating Singer like he might treat his kid brother. He was still treating Singer like a child, and not like a Mate. And if he wanted this relationship to work, if he didn't want to either be miserable for the rest of his life or be stuck with the guilt of having allowed Singer to die because he couldn't handle this, then he needed to take care of this. Now, before he let it get any worse.

Charlie let out a groan. "I have to go," he said suddenly, urgently, and stood rapidly. "I need to talk to Singer."

He took off, then, and heard Anna shouting frustratedly behind him, "What does Singer have to do with anything?"

He didn't pause to answer. He'd tell them soon enough, just as soon as he was comfortable with their relationship himself. It might take a while, of course.

When he reached his tent, Singer was pacing back and forth, hissing irritably. When Charlie entered the tent, Singer froze and stared at him, his eyes glowing in the dim light of the fires still burning outside. "Late," Singer said grimly, and Charlie realized that the shredded bits of fluff laying around the floor of the tent were what remained of one of his blankets. Good thing it was summer or he might miss them. Good thing Singer had gone for his blankets instead of his tent, for that matter.

"I'm sorry," Charlie said quietly, honestly. "Anna and Sean wanted to try and figure out what I was hiding from them, so they plied me with alcohol in an effort to make me talk."

"Did it work?" Singer asked, his head falling to one side in that peculiar gesture of curiosity that Charlie was used to seeing from him.

Charlie chuckled and shook his head. "It didn't," he answered softly. "I couldn't talk about this. About us." He frowned, then, and said added, "How could I talk about it when I'm still not comfortable with this?"

Singer hissed at him, the words lost to Charlie. Finally, angrily, "Need you, can't do this... can't do this alone." Singer's face was twisted into an animalistic snarl, the scales on his face and chest making him appear all the more alien.

"I know," Charlie said quietly. "I'm trying." It wasn't enough, he knew.

"Not enough," Singer hissed, echoing Charlie's thoughts. "Not enough." Singer shook his head once, sharply, and brushed past Charlie to exit the tent.

"You're too young!" Charlie called after him. "What can I do about that? You're a child, Singer, no matter how I look at this!" Charlie turned, because he didn't hear the tent flap rustling closed, and found Singer standing directly behind him, in his face. "What?" he asked, defensive.

"I die without you," Singer said, in the clearest English Charlie ever had heard from him.

Charlie opened his mouth to respond, when Singer cut him off by pulling him down for a vicious kiss. Charlie, uncomfortable, jerked away. "Don't," he begged.

Singer hissed at him. "I DIE without you," Singer snarled. "Your... your morals are going to kill me. What good then?" Singer shook his head and shoved Charlie back, back, until he tripped over his bedroll and fell to land on his ass. Singer followed, until he was perched on Charlie's lap, straddling him. "You need to... to get over this," Singer hissed in his ear.

Charlie closed his eyes and fought down the flash of arousal that inspired in him. Singer was a child. Singer was the age of his youngest brother, which placed him at roughly twelve years old. He couldn't... he couldn't do this. He couldn't. "I can't," he said, pleadingly. "Singer, please, you need to find somebody else. I thought I could do this, but I can't. I just... I just can't."

Singer snarled at him and shoved at Charlie again, so that Charlie went back onto his back. Singer once more followed him and kissed him, his young body undulating against Charlie's insistently until heat burst over Charlie in an uncontrollable rush of pleasure followed by an embarrassingly familiar sticky sensation. "Your body knows that you are mine," Singer breathed against his lips, as soon as he lifted off so that they could both catch their breath.

Charlie's eyes were closed, his breath coming in heaving pants. His body felt scorched, his morals lay shattered before him. He couldn't... Merlin help him, how could he resist Singer? He adored him, as much as he hated himself for it. "You'll kill me," he murmured to Singer, even as he reached up to run a hand through Singer's lovely long black hair.

Singer let out a small, happy little hum and tucked his head into the hollow where Charlie's neck turned into his shoulder. "I won't," he whispered, with the tone of a promise. "Care for you, always. Adore you. Worship you." He pressed soft kisses to Charlie's neck and Charlie's eyes fluttered open. "My Mate," Singer said.

Charlie groaned. "Yours," he agreed, and for the first time ever, he thought that maybe he might have meant it.

Singer let out a triumphant hiss and seized his lips in another violent kiss. "No... treachery?" Singer asked once he'd pulled back once more.

"None," Charlie promised. He couldn't... it wasn't in him to fight the little one... to fight Singer any longer. He didn't have that kind of willpower. Merlin help him, he'd fought this for a year. He couldn't... he couldn't fight himself any longer. Couldn't fight Singer, knowing that to win the fight would result in this magnificent creature's death. He didn't have that in him. "Just make me a promise?" he asked, in a last ditch effort to maintain some form of morality in this mess.

Singer shifted to stare down at him, propping himself up with a hand on Charlie's shoulder. Then, quietly, "Anything for my Mate."

"Please, please, don't ask me to consummate this until we have no choice." Charlie rested a hand on Singer's cheek, forcing the beautiful creature to hold his gaze. "I won't run from this, but don't ask me to do this until we have to."

Singer's head tilted into Charlie's gentle hand, and his pretty gold-rimmed green eyes closed in thought. "Not hiding?" he asked, eyes fluttering open once more.

"Not hiding," Charlie promised. He couldn't run from this. He just... he couldn't.

Singer let his breath out in a contemplative hiss of air. "For my Mate, I can agree to this," he said finally, and Charlie breathed out a sigh of relief. "But no more hiding!" Singer commanded.

Charlie could agree to that, he thought. So long as he didn't have to try and consummate this with a child, he could agree to that.

He just hoped that he wasn't wrong, and that he wouldn't be damned for this.

ooOOooOOoo

Three months later, Charlie was once more sitting out at the campfire with Anna and Sean, and they'd once again handed him a shot of whiskey. This time, Charlie sipped at it and stared contemplatively into the flames. Things with Singer had gone far better than he'd thought possible, once they'd reached an accord. Singer seemed much more at ease now that he was assured of Charlie's affections, and Charlie had long since given up resisting the way he always wanted to cuddle with the Dragon Singer. He no longer had to worry about Singer being irritated with him for staying out late, either, now that Singer was more assured of his place in Charlie's life. It was, all around, a very beneficial change to their relationship.

"So, you seem a little less tense these days," Anna said conversationally. "Did you get things worked out with whoever your mysterious girlfriend is?"

Charlie chuckled and took another sip of his whiskey. "What makes you think it's a girl?" he finally asked once he'd swallowed. It was probably time he came clean to Anna and Sean. They were his best friends, after all, and they deserved to know. For good or ill, this was going to be his life. And these days, he was pleased to say that he was considering it mostly be for good. It had taken him a while to get there, but now that he was, he wasn't going to go back to hating himself for something entirely out of his hands.

Sean was crowing with laughter. "Pay up, lassie! You owe me twenty galleons over that one, you do! I told you he didn't want to tell us because his girl wasn't a girl!"

Anna chuckled. "You did, you did," she agreed, and then added impishly, "Maybe you could take it out in trade instead? I seem to have misplaced my coin pouch." She hadn't even looked for it, and Charlie groaned.

He buried his head in his hands and said, "If you're going to be flirting with him, or bargaining for sexual favors while I'm sitting right here, I'm just going to take the rest of my secret and go elsewhere," he warned. As he'd predicted, they both stopped laughing almost immediately.

"Wait, you mean that you aren't embarrassed to be dating a guy?" Sean asked, sounding disappointed.

"It's not that he's a guy that bothers me. I've been out to my parents since I was in my third year at Hogwarts; why would it bother me to be out here? It isn't like I've noticed you two particularly caring about Elsa and Marie," he said. He shook his head, then, and said quietly, "No, it's more that I'm more engaged than dating anyone, if you want to look at it that way."

"What?" Anna shrieked, then she flung her arms around him. "Char, that's great! Why wouldn't you tell us sooner? Are we going to get to meet him? Does he work here? When are you getting married? Where's your ring? Where's his ring? Why didn't you tell us sooner?" she babbled at him.

Charlie chuckled and leaned into the hug before drawing back. "As near as we can figure, we've got about a year before things become permanent," he said softly. "And he works here, I suppose, in a manner of speaking. We haven't exchanged rings, I think you've both already met him at least once since most people here have, and I'm still not a hundred percent sure that I'm ready to tell you everything."

Sean's eyes were narrowed, and then he said brightly, "You cad, Jacques is married!" He then chuckled at his own joke and said, "But seriously, we only ever see you with, well, us, and Jacques. And Singer, which is still weird as hell considering antisocial that kid is. So who do you sneak around with?"

Charlie simply raised his eyebrows and offered Sean and Anna a bland smile, and waited. They weren't stupid. It wouldn't take them long now that he seed had been planted.

Sure enough, he watched as realization bloomed over Anna's face first, followed by Sean's. "You're his Mate," Anna said quietly, gravely, the smile falling away from her face.

"I am," he agreed softly. He couldn't deny it. Singer was his mate as well, after all.

"You're going to go through with it?" Sean asked, though he didn't sound like thought that Charlie saying no was much of an option.

Charlie, in response, nodded. "How could I not?" he asked. The question was rhetorical. All three of them knew that not going through with it would kill Singer. Anna and Sean had worked the reserve for too long not to understand what exactly the significance was of Charlie being Singer's mate. But... "I don't know that I'd ever be happy again if I didn't," he added, so that they didn't think he was being forced into this. "I love him."

"You know that you won't... once you go through with it, you might not be human any longer. We don't really know what happened with the mates of the other two Singers. They weren't exactly receptive to our advances when we tried to talk to them, but you knew that already," Anna murmured thoughtfully. "There's no way of knowing how it will affect you."

Charlie had this conversation with Jacques as well, only the other night. Jacques had told him that very thing while discussing the other two known Singers in the world. But considering that the other two Singers were hundreds of years old, or something like that, Charlie supposed that their Mates must have changed in some way to be able to stay with them. Otherwise, wouldn't they have died with their Mates?

"I know," was his only response. He was pretty sure that he'd be giving up his humanity for Singer. Oddly enough, that didn't bother him nearly as much as other parts of the relationship did. And if he'd gotten over those then, well, he supposed he could live with the lack of humanity that would result as well. The conversation ended at that, and he lifted his glass of whiskey to take another sip when something caught his eye.

It took a moment, but he swiftly realized that what he'd seen had been the flash of firelight on green scales and froze. Singer was out and among the campfires, and moving towards him, slow and hesitant. When Charlie didn't protest, when Charlie didn't stand up or move away from the fire, Singer crept forward until he had settled himself at Charlie's feet and rested his head against Charlie's knee.

Singer studied Anna and Sean warily for a moment before settling in and closing his eyes, snuggling closer to Charlie's leg than he would have thought possible. Absently, Charlie lifted one hand to run his fingers through Singer's hair, and Singer sighed happily and relaxed even further.

"Merlin, you really are his Mate," Sean said, sounding awed. That broke the sudden tension in the group as Anna burst into laughter and Charlie and Sean followed her into it. Singer startled against his leg before he sagged once more into relaxation, this time with a disapproving frown on his face.

ooOOooOOoo

"~We are approaching a holiday of great significance for the humans,~" Tyara murmured to Singer as she nosed at his stomach until he giggled.

He had just overseen the Mating of two youths, Singing them into a peaceful Heat. One of them was one of Tyara's own hatchlings, and it had been a pleasure to see her Mated happily. The camp would be a peaceful one for several weeks due to the feelings of peace and contentment the new Mates would spread.

"~This is their... Winter Solstice?~" Singer asked hesitantly. He was unfamiliar with the human holiday, though he knew that last year Charlie's parents had visited him for the holiday. It had been while Charlie was still wrestling with himself and their fate, and Singer had been very cross with him as a result. He was very glad that Charlie had finally come to his senses and realized that there was nothing he could do to get rid of Singer. He was stuck with him.

"~I think they also call it... Christmas? The humans all seem to be very happy during this time of year,~" Tyara responded contemplatively. "~Will you and your Charlie do anything for the holiday? I believe it is a human custom to exchange gifts.~"

Singer's head fell to one side as he considered. Charlie had been very happy as of late. He'd hummed strange songs as he wandered about the tent in the morning, and just the other day their tent had acquired an oddly decorated tree. Singer thought that maybe Charlie was planning to celebrate whether Singer was or not.

He considered for a moment more, then asked, hesitantly, "~What do humans typically give one another as gifts?~"

ooOOooOOoo

Charlie woke to the smell of something on fire. He groaned and his eyes flew open, to find Singer staring in dismay at a flaming piece of... something. Was that some form of meat? He extinguished the flame with a well-sent _Aguamenti_, then asked, "What was that supposed to be?" He just wasn't up to waking up to Christmas morning in flames yet.

"Breakfast," Singer said mournfully, and poked at it. "For you. For... for Solstice?" he asked tentatively. "Or Yule. Christmas. Winter holiday."

Charlie's eyes widened. "You were making me a Christmas breakfast," he clarified. "And it caught fire?"

Singer let out a disappointed hiss. "Important human holiday, yes? And now ruined." He hung his head, then, and Charlie couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him. "Not funny!" Singer protested.

"Oh, love, a little bit of fire isn't nearly enough to ruin Christmas," Charlie said soothingly. "And it was sweet of you to try and cook something, but I know you don't know how. And I'm not entirely sure how you were going to do that without a stove, anyway."

"Flamed it," Singer said absently. Then, the little one brightened. "Got you something!" he chirped, and pulled out a package wrapped clumsily in leaves woven together.

Charlie smiled softly, took the present, and pressed a soft kiss to Singer's lips. "Thank you," he murmured. He opened it slowly, carefully, and found a pair of black breeches like Singer's own, as well as a pair of black boots. There was a shirt as well, more like a tunic really, made of a deep green that shifted colors in the light. Altogether it was a lovely set. "They're perfect," he murmured.

"Yes?" Singer asked sweetly, hopefully. "Thought hard, had to poll other dragons and eventually asked Jacques," he confessed.

"Jacques gave you fantastic advice," Charlie answered quietly, and pressed another kiss to Singer's lips. "Got something for you, too," he confessed. He was glad now that Jacques had given him a heads up. Otherwise he would have been caught empty handed. He'd never considered that his Mate, raised by dragons, would even think of giving him a Christmas present. He just hoped that Singer didn't take it badly.

Singer took the present with shaking hands. He hesitantly slid one sharpened nail under the paper and opened it delicately. There was a book in there, Charlie knew, a book on all the different dragon breeds of the world. It even, in one brief little blurb, mentioned Singers and their seeming connection with the dragons. Singer ran reverent fingers over the ancient book before looking up and breathing, "Is lovely," in a sad tone, "but I cannot..." Singer stopped then and dropped his head.

"It's okay," Charlie said quietly, having guessed as much. When would Singer have learned? "I'd like to teach you."

Charlie found himself knocked back into his bedroll, an armful of enthusiastically grateful Singer. Charlie mentally shrugged and focussed on the fervent kisses Singer was peppering his face with. He just hoped that Singer didn't get too frustrated as he taught him to read.

That night, Christmas night, was the first night that Singer sang for him. The sound was beautiful, haunting, and Charlie lost himself in the music as he studied his beloved's face. Eventually, he heard the other dragons on the reserve begin to join in, providing a magnificent tune for the rest of the camp. It was, according to later gossip procured from Anna and Sean, one of the most magical moments in the Romanian reserve's history.

ooOOooOOoo

The letter had arrived shortly before the start of summer. Charlie read it through once, twice, three times, countless times, his eyes roving desperately over the words over and over and over. If he kept reading it, then maybe the words would change. It was ridiculous. It was absurd. Hogwarts was one of the safest places on Earth. So how could it be that he'd lost both his little sister and his little brother in one cruel blow?

A sob, broken and desperate, escaped him. It didn't matter, he supposed, how it happened. His parents' letter said something about little Ronnie trying to save sweet Ginny, and both of them getting lost in the process. They were gone. They'd never come back. That was the way that death worked. He'd never see Ginny, who had been so excited to go to Hogwarts, again. And Ron would never see the Chudley Cannons win a game. And he knew, he knew that there was nothing he could have done to stop it, no way he could have seen it coming, but Merlin, if he'd only been there... if only...

He crumpled the parchment, now damp in places with his tears, into a little ball and flung it as far away from him as he could. He curled in on himself, rolled away from the bit of light sneaking in from the bright day outside, and cried. He had work to do, he should be getting up, but Merlin, his little siblings... gone...

At one point, he was pretty sure that Anna came to check on him. He remembered the tent flap opening, heard her find the parchment he'd thrown away, heard her let out a small noise of sympathy and then duck back out. But he couldn't have said how long he lay like that before he felt small, strong arms curl around him and a tiny body press against his from behind.

Charlie let out a broken noise and shifted, turned so that he was clinging to Singer. "They're gone," he whispered softly, harshly, his body wracked by sobs.

Singer let out a small, sympathetic little croon, and then quietly began to sing. It was a soft, mournful tune, one that Charlie recognized as the funeral dirge the dragons had sung for Benezza. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew when the other dragons heard it and lifted their voices as well that it almost made him feel a little bit better.

He fell asleep that night to the funeral dirge still being sung, and when he woke up in the morning, somehow he knew that it was going to be okay.

ooOOooOOoo

Albus let out a heavy sigh. Ginny and Ronald Weasley, dead, and for what? He still didn't know. He didn't understand. Something had happened, something must have, but what? How could Ginny Weasley, who had never shown any signs of parselmagic, have made it into the Chamber of Secrets?

Something had happened. Dark undercurrents were stirring, and Albus greatly feared that he was powerless against them. He had no hero to save them, not again. The child of the prophecy was lost. And Neville was... well, Neville wasn't really going to be much of a replacement.

He could see nothing but dark times in their future, not without the Chosen One. And he was dead, which meant that very dark times indeed lay ahead. He just hoped that he could do something, anything, to stop this madness before it drug the rest of the world down as well.

ooOOooOOoo

And then, two months later, Singer went into his first Heat.

* * *

**A/N: So... yeah. Sorry for the delay, guys. And I'm afraid that there will be another delay after this chapter. The plan, as it stands, is to finish Book One of Heir, then to finish this one up. It should be another three months or so. If I have time to work on this one at school, I will, but don't hold your breath. This one makes me a little uncomfortable just to type when nobody might look over my shoulder; the thought of working on it where others could see is really disconcerting. So that's the state of things right now.**

**I hope the chapter was worth the wait, and I hope you let me know what you think!**


End file.
